


By Special Request

by redneterp



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Birthday Party, Fluff, M/M, Restaurants, alternate timeline - no pandemic, jack's 30th birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25658503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redneterp/pseuds/redneterp
Summary: Ana's family restaurant is taken over by a crowd of large hockey bros (and a few regular-sized friends) celebrating Jack's birthday. What impression do SMH, the Falconers, and our favourite hockey robot/baker couple make on an outsider? Read on to discover.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 18
Kudos: 164
Collections: Jack Zimmermann Turns 30!





	By Special Request

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for the Jack Zimmermann Turns 30 event/celebration, written for the prompt "Outsider POV." Thanks to @PorcupineGirl for organizing this event!
> 
> This story is set in an alternate timeline, where there either is no pandemic, or the US followed a New Zealand-like approach of eradication, for obvious reasons (hard to have an outsider observing Jack and co with social distancing rules, especially the NHL's current bubble)! I enjoyed imagining this fluffy little peek into the future for our favourite Hockey Robot and his favourite baker, and creating an OC to be our window into their world, and hope you enjoy reading it too.

The bell over the door rang as it opened, pulling Ana’s attention from QuickBooks. It was the lull between lunch and dinner rush when she was usually free to catch up on admin work, but there were occasional drop-ins. Leaving her laptop on her makeshift desk, Ana made her way behind the counter as the customer approached.

“Good afternoon, how are you? ” she asked. Tía insisted on proper greetings, none of the American rush straight to business.

The customer was a compact white guy, just a bit taller than her and maybe a few years younger, blond hair in a trendy cut. He shot her a bright smile before replying, “I’m good, thanks. And yourself?”

“Sun’s out and it stopped raining, I can’t complain. How can I help you today?”

“I had a bit of a special request? I don’t know if you typically do this, but” -- he paused for a second, eyes flicking to the jar next to the register and the pride flag Ana had squeezed in with the Salvadoran and American flags -- “my husband’s birthday is coming up, and I’d like to host a surprise party.”

“Aww, that’s sweet,” Ana replied.

“Thanks!” He shot her another of his bright smiles. “And I was hoping it might be possible to rent out your restaurant for the evening? My husband’s a fan of your food, and you serve hearty portions and, well, most of our friends have big appetites,” he finished with a shrug.

Ana laughed. This guy looked like he was barely out of college, and she knew how Fernando and his buddies ate. “I get it, my brother and his teammates are like bottomless pits.” “Oh, what does he play?” the customer asked.

“Soccer, of course.”

“Do you play too?” 

“I played in college,” she replied, “but I twisted my knee a while back so I haven’t played lately, and I’m busy here, so…” she finished with a shrug.

“I get it,” he nodded. He had a lean, athletic look, and Ana thought he looked like he could be a soccer player himself. Not wanting to get too distracted from the actual reason for his visit, she redirected the conversation. “Back to your original question, we don’t typically close down the whole restaurant, other than for our staff family Christmas party, but we may be able to work something out. What date were you hoping for?” she asked, grabbing the reservation book.

“August first. His birthday’s the following week, but Saturday works better for a party, don’t you think?” “Of course,” Ana agreed and flipped to check the date in question. _No reservations yet this far out, this could work._

And with a bit of quick thinking and negotiation about the number of guests, creating a set menu (so Tío José didn’t strangle her for having 40 guests placing orders at once), and setup (“our friend Larissa can get here early and keep all the boys in line”), she and the customer (Eric, she’d learned) came to an agreement and a deposit was made.

As Eric was walking out with a smile and a wave, Manuel arrived for his shift, and promptly whirled back to the front window to do a double-take.

“Oh my God, that’s Eric Bittle! In our restaurant!” he cried.

“He’s a customer,” Ana said, rolling her eyes at her younger cousin.

“But he’s amazing! His channel is amazing, and his pastry technique videos really are the best!” Manuel continued, all the while typing on his phone.

“Ah, one of your YouTubers,” Ana said.

“He’s not just a YouTuber, he’s already published two actual cookbooks! And you should know who he is, his husband, well boyfriend at the time, is …”

Just then the phone rang, and Ana missed out on the explanation of why exactly Eric and his husband were local celebrities. By the time she finished taking the takeout order, Manuel was back in the kitchen getting started on his desserts, and the conversation slipped from Ana’s memory entirely.

🇸🇻

Six weeks later Ana had a vague recollection of Manuel’s warning, as their restaurant began to fill with party guests, most of them giant, buff twenty-something guys. True to Eric’s promise, Larissa had showed up early, placed a few decorations, and helped (wo)man the door, separating invited guests from hopeful drop-in customers. Larissa was petite, having maybe an inch on Ana, yet all of the giant bros followed her every instruction, though a few of them inexplicably called her Lardo? The volume grew even louder as the last of the guests arrived, greeting each other with shouts, bro-hugs, and more odd nicknames (at least Ana hoped they were nicknames, as she wasn’t aware of any language in which “Tater” was an actual name and not a root vegetable). The whole thing had the vibe of a sports team gathering, and a few of the guys looked vaguely familiar. Ana couldn’t quite figure out why, but didn’t have time to dwell on it as she positioned herself behind the bar, serving up drinks to the boisterous crowd.

Suddenly, the din was interrupted by a piercing whistle that had apparently come from Larissa herself. “Listen up, fuc…,” -- she paused mid-word, glancing at the group of small children clustered near the corner tables-- “friends, they’re going to be here in 3 minutes, so I need all of y’all to sit your butts down --on a chair, the table doesn’t count Poots-- pronto! And when they come in, you will all be saying ‘happy birthday,’ in unison, or else…” 

And with a flurry of movement, the assembled crowd moved to the tables, and within a moment or two they recreated a packed dinner service on an initial glance, though the tables were still empty of food. The guy with a giant moustache who’d arrived with Larissa had positioned himself behind the curtain where he could watch out the front window, and soon enough he was hissing out a ten second warning.

Sure enough, a few seconds later Ana heard the bell as the front door opened, followed by Eric’s voice cheerfully chatting. She reached the corner of the bar that served as the hostess stand as Eric entered, hand-in-hand with a tall man who was smiling at him softly, presumably his husband and the guest of honor.

Ana managed to get out a “Welcome to --” before she was overridden by a loud shout (mostly in unison) of “Happy Birthday!” from the assembled guests. 

Eric’s husband looked up, eyes wide and bright blue and a startled look on his face for a few seconds before his face settled into a soft lopsided smile. “Oh ... you guys … wow,” he stammered out before being drowned out once again by laughter and cheers from the crowd of guests. He turned to Eric and asked “Did you know about this?”

“Of course, sweetpea,” Eric laughed. “It’s about time I paid you back for that oven.”

“That was five years ago! And it was from the whole team!” his husband protested.

“Sure, sure. You keep telling yourself that, mister,” Eric said, stepping closer.

“Well, I remember a moment like this,” Blue Eyes said as he bent down, buried his face in Eric’s shoulder and slid an arm around his waist. “Although back then I didn’t get the chance to do this,” he murmured softly, before lifting his head just enough to press a soft kiss to Eric’s lips. “Thanks, bud. I love you.”

“Happy birthday, Jack,” Eric whispered back, quiet enough that Ana realized she was the only one in the room beyond the couple themselves who heard what they’d said. As they kissed, a chorus of yells broke out behind her, something about fines?

Ana took a step back, trying to give the men some privacy as they continued to stare into each others’ eyes, when their pose, and the name Eric had used finally jogged her memory. Of course, Jack, he was that hockey player whose face was plastered on billboards and the sides of buses all around the city. And he’d kissed his partner after winning the big cup a few years back, creating enough ripples in the sports world that Ana had heard about it in her corner of football/soccer fandom. Well, whatever drama the sports world had put them through, it had obviously worked out for them, as here they were in front of her, clearly as adorably in love as ever. Eventually they pulled apart slightly, and Eric grabbed Jack’s hand again, tugging him towards the counter.

“Ana, this is my husband, Jack.”

“Welcome, Jack, and happy birthday. I believe your friends saved you a couple seats” -- she gestured towards the table along the side wall, where for some reason a cluster of robot-themed mylar balloons was tied to the back of a chair -- “but let me know if I can start you off with something to drink. Our specialty is horchata, and we have a selection of beers.”

They each ordered a horchata before slowly making their way across the room towards their seats, interrupted every few steps by their friends greeting Jack with hugs and backslaps. _If Jack was a pro hockey player, most of these other giants must be his teammates or other hockey players of some sort,_ Ana realized, remembering Eric’s warning about big appetites at his first visit. _Thank God Tío has been making pupusas all afternoon,_ she thought, _we’re going to need all of them._

🇸🇻

The volume had dropped to a quiet murmur as the guests first dove into the food, but once the first round of platters was picked clean, Moustache Guy (who seemed to respond solely to the name Shitty?) stood and shouted for everyone’s attention. 

“Hear ye, hear ye, we are here to celebrate the birth of my brother from a most wondrous mother,” he paused and bowed towards a stunning middle-aged woman in the corner. “Now Jackabelle,” he continued, “you may have thought you were safe and that we’d told all of our stories at your wedding, but brah, you would be wrong. So gentlemen, ladies, and non-binary pals, stand to your feet and share a tale! Don’t be shy, that’s Jack’s job. Now keep it PG for tiny ears and don’t be harsh, but whoever makes my bro blush the most will earn my deepest respect,” he finished with a flourish.

Over the next half hour, Ana caught bits of the birthday greetings and stories as she and Manuel bustled about refilling drinks and delivering round after round of food from the kitchen. She didn’t usually pay much attention to guests’ conversations, but when she thought back at the end of the night, a few snippets and snapshots stuck in her memory.

Eric stood first, starting things off with what obviously a popular inside story. “Now seven years ago this month, I was a nervous lil’ freshman meeting my college team for the first time, and do you know what my captain’s first words to me were? ‘Eat more protein.’” He paused as their friends laughed. “Now I’d like to think we’ve come a long way since then” -- he patted Jack twice on the shoulder -- “but just in case, I’m pretty sure we’ve had enough protein tonight to make even you satisfied!” He continued on to talk about four-am checking practices ( _four am? That was just not right_. That only reinforced Ana’s belief that soccer was superior to hockey) and lattice pie crusts before Ana lost track of the story as she was making drinks. By the time she was finished and emerged from behind the bar with a tray of drinks, a few of the guests were wiping tears from their eyes, and Jack was staring up at Eric in full-on heart-eyes adoration. As soon as Eric finished speaking, Jack tugged him down onto his lap and pressed their foreheads together. Jack whispered something to Eric before pressing their lips together in another kiss, which led to another chorus of whistles and good-natured shouts about fines. Jack threw his head back in a laugh, saying it was worth it. Ana remembered seeing a couple of Jack’s interviews on ESPN, and thinking he was even duller than the average hockey player, with short, monotone replies. The man she saw in front of her, though, was practically a different person, vibrant and full of life around his friends and family.

Potato man ( _what was with these nicknames?_ ) told a few stories, but the one that stuck with Ana was about his mother’s visit from Russia two years earlier, and how touched he was that Jack had learned basic Russian to be able to properly welcome her.

A lanky Asian man in a teal snapback talked about how much Jack’s support and confidence in him as a frog ( _A frog? Must’ve mis-heard_ ) meant to him, something about dibs, and then got a bit misty-eyed as he credited Jack with leading him to where he was today. “Stuck playing in California, you mean?” someone called out. “Well one of our teams was conference champions, and it wasn’t yours,” Teal Hat snapped back to a chorus of jeers and laughs.

As she delivered a third platter of pupusas to Potato Man’s table, the giant white guy who’d arrived with Larissa was finishing a story told with dramatic hand gestures, something about an evil sheep empire? As he stopped for breath, the Black man at his side elbowed him in the hip and gave him a capital-L Look. “Right,” Giant Guy said, turning back towards Jack, “Rans made me promise not to talk about that. So you’re another year older, and I asked myself, how do you measure a year?” He cleared his throat, and then started singing something about minutes and love that sounded like it belonged in a musical. His voice was surprisingly tolerable, though loud, Ana thought, as she returned to the kitchen for more tamales.

There were other stories and jokes, but Ana couldn’t recall the details as she had been busy working, moving in and out of the dining area. Jack was obviously well-loved by his friends, and had a pleased, if embarrassed, look on his face as he listened. He seemed like more of a private and quiet guy, but he tolerated being in the spotlight for one evening.

Eventually the stories and ribbing wound down, and even the heartiest appetites were sated. Some of the guests were standing and milling about chatting as the dinner dishes were being cleared, yet Jack had made his way to the corner table where the families had been seated. Jack had a little girl, maybe six years old, perched on his knee, and was bent forward listening intently to her speak. As Ana cleared the last of the cutlery and glassware from their table she could tell that the girl was describing her drawing, the beads on her braids clacking as she shook her head vigorously in response to Jack’s question. “No, silly, puppies can’t fly, they jump!” she squealed. 

“Oh, of course,” he nodded seriously before asking another question.

Ana passed by Eric on her way back to the dish pit, and noticed he was staring at Jack and the child with a look of delight on his face. _Now that_ , she thought, _is a serious case of baby fever if I’ve ever seen one._ She’d never been struck with that particular ailment herself, but recognized it well from seeing it afflict her cousins. _I would bet a limb, or even a non-essential organ, that those two will be making a ~special announcement~ within the year,_ she thought.

Despite all they’d eaten, after a bit of time stretching and chatting nearly all of the guests were eager to try dessert, welcoming trays of semita and pastelitos and slices of Manuel’s specialty, quesadilla. Eric had warned Ana at their first meeting that Jack wasn’t always one for desserts, yet as she delivered cups of coffee to the next table she saw the two of them had a row of dessert plates in front of them that they took turns sampling. Jack smiled softly as he took bites of each from the fork Eric held out to him. If she had just met them she might be tempted to call them unbearably sweet, but seeing a supposedly-awkward and emotionless large pro athlete so clearly in love with his husband might just be enough to melt the jaded corners of her heart, at least for one night.

🇸🇻

Forty minutes later, the last of the party guests left, with many thanks and promises to return soon. They’d been loud but pleasant, she thought as she collapsed onto a chair at her usual table, and they’d tipped really well. If a few of them did return, or even better posted photos of the food on their social media, that could be better than any advertising campaign she could have hoped to concoct.

“Did you see that?” Manuel asked, dropping onto a chair across from hers, “Eric Bittle ate my desserts!” At first Ana had been surprised that Manuel had offered to pick up a server shift that evening in addition to his usual afternoon baking shift, but as the evening wore on she noticed him chatting with Eric a few times, and realized he was making the most of the opportunity to meet one of his idols. “And he liked them! He said the quesadilla was moist and delicious!” “Of course he did, you’re the best,” Ana said.

“You have to say that, you’re my cousin. And my boss. But Eric is my favorite baker, I have been watching his channel for almost ten years.” “Oh, so his opinion counts for more than mine?” she teased. “Well, yes. And he was so nice, just like he is in his videos, he’s not just playing a part for the camera. He invited me to be a guest on his channel to bake the quesadilla, he’s going to text me tomorrow! And his husband is not at all a typical jock. He asked me about the classes I was taking summer semester, and he was actually interested. He asked serious questions about the readings, I swear he was about to whip out a notebook and write down the titles. He’s like a nerd jock. I didn’t know such a thing existed.”

“Yeah, he seemed pretty cool,” Ana agreed.

“And speaking of cool jocks, I saw you chatting with that woman.” “Who?” Ana tried to deflect.

“Don’t even,” Manual countered. “The tall one whose eyebrows were on point. She was hanging around the bar for ages while you were making coffees.”

“Oh, George. She’s the assistant general manager for the Falconers, the team a bunch of those guys play on. She was just asking what it’s like, managing a family business.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Really. She invited me to join her for a run sometime, said she could use more friends who were runners and businesswomen.”

“Cuz, you are an amazing businesswoman, but I 100% guarantee that’s not all she wants to talk about.”

“Silencio,” she warned, pushing herself back to her feet. “Let’s finish cleaning up so we can get out of here. And you can dream about YouTube stardom.” “And you can dream about having George look at you the way Eric’s husband looks at him,” he retorted with a laugh, jumping away as she snapped a towel at him.

And while romance hadn’t been anywhere near the top of her priority list in the years since she’d taken over the business side of the restaurant, Ana allowed herself to consider the possibility as the night drew to a close. From what she’d seen tonight, maybe hard-working jocks could find happiness in unexpected places too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos/comments always appreciated!
> 
> Please note I'm a white Canadian, so if my portrayal of a Salvadoran-American character is inaccurate/insensitive please feel free to let me know.


End file.
